Still Human
by Vintage Tea Party
Summary: After a particularly difficult case, Jo has a request and Henry is more than willing to oblige. What he doesn't expect is to find something he hadn't even known he'd been seeking.


It had been a horrific day. Given the things that Henry and Jo saw on a daily basis something had to be exceptionally awful to earn such a title. Today had done just that. For the past week they had been investigating the death of a middle aged woman, that had appeared on the surface to be from natural causes. The woman in question was survived by her husband and one child, a teenager daughter. They appeared to be a normal middle class family and the case seemed to be an ordinary one. But from the onset Henry had suspected it was murder even though the signs weren't there. He wasn't really sure what had given him that impression but there was just something about the case that had bothered him from the start. It wasn't until earlier that day that he and Jo had finally pieced it together.

Up until today, Henry had been the only one who had thought it was murder. He knew that even Jo had doubted it but she knew enough about him at this point that she hadn't said she doubted him. But no one, Henry included, had suspected that it was the husband. By the time they'd gotten to the house to arrest him for the murder of his wife they had, instead, found the daughter, brutally murdered by him. Neither Henry or Jo could seem to get the terrible image of it out of their minds.

They were obviously upset by the event. Both blamed themselves for not seeing it sooner. They had both made a full mental list of what ifs that might have saved the poor girl's life. So, without really making an invitation, Henry had asked Jo to come over and without really accepting she came home with him. There just seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them that neither felt like being alone after the day they'd just had. It was the hardest case they had faced together and only the company of the other seemed to help at all. When Henry had grabbed a full bottle of whiskey and glasses instead of shots Jo hadn't stopped him. It was unusual for him to drink in excess but there was no way she was going to turn down free, expensive whiskey, her drink of choice. She was now very grateful for his extravagant tastes in alcohol.

Abe had asked if they wanted anything but they had refused and he had sensed that they wanted to be alone so he had made himself scarce. They made their way to the roof where they both sat on the ground, side by side their backs up against one of the walls drinking in silence. Neither kept track of the minutes or glasses of alcohol that were passing as they sat in contemplative silence.

"It wasn't our fault you know," Henry said quietly, after a while.

"Does that make you feel any better?" Jo asked turning to glance at him.

He was still staring off into the distance. "No," he finally admitted.

"Yeah, me neither," Jo said taking another drink out of her glass. They both knew that they really didn't need to blame themselves, that it really _wasn't_ their fault. But that didn't keep either one from regretting it. Normally, they didn't take cases so seriously. But there was just something terrible about this one that wouldn't allow them to move on quite yet.

They sat in more solemn reflective silence. Jo was the one to finally break it the next time. She let out a deep breath and leaned forward setting her glass down and out of reach before settling back against the wall. "Why do have to have such fine tastes?" she asked Henry with mock annoyance.

Henry smiled slightly. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked as he took another drink from his own glass.

"It is when it makes me drink more than I should. Maybe, if it were cheap I wouldn't have drank that much."

Henry smiled. He was still holding his alcohol quite well. They'd been drinking a lot but in her defense if he didn't have a couple of centuries of tolerance built up he would probably be drunk as well. "Are you drunk, Detective?" he asked, a slight tease in his voice.

"Yes," she admitted. "So, what if I am?" she said with a glare that dared him to challenge her.

"Well, I wouldn't be too hard on yourself; it was a terrible day. If anyone deserves a drink it's us."

"I'm not being hard on myself. I can drink if I want," she said matter-of-factly (and a little bit defensively too he noted). "I just don't like what it does to me sometimes; when I've had too many."

Henry gave her a side glance. Her voice suddenly sounded sad and he realized she wasn't joking around anymore. As he looked at her face, he noticed she looked suddenly upset. "What is that?" he asked gently.

"It just makes me feel...lonely," she said with a shrug not looking his way, like it didn't matter. But he could tell that it really did matter.

"You're not alone now," he said, trying to reassure her against the sadness that had seemed to settle on her.

"No, I'm not," she said glancing at him briefly. "But I didn't say alone. I said 'lonely.' There's a difference."

Henry paused thinking before answering. "Yes, there is," he agreed solemnly.

"It's alright. I know better than to get myself in this position. It has gotten me enough uncomfortable situations that I should have learned my lesson by now."

"What do you mean?"

She looked at him and gave him that exasperated _Come on Henry _look. "You know what I'm talking about. You knew it the first time you met me. You so nicely pointed out in front of everyone that I was obviously hung over. Though you were kind enough not to point out the rest of my night's activities even though I know you figured that out as well."

Henry paused, surprised and thinking. What she was saying, didn't particularly surprise him. The surprise was that she was telling him. He remembered back to that morning he'd met Jo. It had been quite clear to him then, what kind of night she'd had previously. Clearly hung over and wearing two day clothes; it was rather obvious even if she didn't want it to be.

He hadn't known Jo then. He hadn't known that he would become her partner or what she would come to mean to him. Now that he did, he felt terrible for embarrassing her in that way. Though, of course, even if she weren't important to him and even if they never had developed a friendship there still wouldn't be any excuse for treating her that way. He'd just been rude. "I apologize. That was completely callous of me," he said sincerely, now filled with regret over that first meeting.

"It's alright," she said, sadly, with a shrug. "It was the truth."

Why hadn't he been paying better attention? For a man with such good deductive reasoning, he sure could be thick. He knew she was lonely. He'd have known it from the first meeting if he had been paying attention more and showing off less. If he had looked beyond his deductions that had determined her previous night's activities he would have understood the motivation behind them. He'd have understood what drove her to that behavior. After all, they were sentiments he'd shared more often than he cared to count. And he would have seen that underneath it all was the evidence that it hadn't made a difference at all; it hadn't cured the deeper loneliness she felt.

There was sadness in her, a deep loneliness. At less than a year since she'd lost her husband, she was still early in the grieving process. Right now, she felt like the alcohol was making her something she normally wasn't but he had a feeling it was actually allowing her to be more herself than she let herself be most of the time. He was pretty sure that the loneliness she felt when she drank to excess was there all the time, she just covered it up most of the time.

"What can I do?" he asked suddenly. He really did want to help. He worried about her. She was his friend and he was finding that his concern for her was growing by the day. He had wanted to help in the past but she'd avoided his attempts. Maybe now, she would accept some comfort if he offered it.

She glanced away again. "Oh, nothing. It's fine," she said dismissively like she was embarrassed now that she had said anything.

"No, it isn't," he said seriously and she looked at him. "You're not fine."

He was surprised to see that her eyes glistened as she moved them away from his. "I suppose I'm not. But it's just the alcohol. I'll get over it."

"Jo, what can I do? I don't want you to be lonely. Not when I'm sitting right here."

She turned towards him, noticing he used her actual name, not something he didn't do often. She bit her lip and he could tell that she was deliberating between whether to tell him or not. She glanced away again but she decided to answer his question. "It just makes me feel like...that isn't enough."

"What would make it enough?"

"Look, its stupid. It's fine."

"Jo," he implored.

"It just makes me feel like I want...physical affection."

Henry was surprised. Jo didn't strike him as a particularly physically affectionate person. But he supposed there was a lot about her he still didn't know. She pretended she was unbreakable, impenetrable. Of course, he had always known a lot of that was an act. But now, he realized that maybe part of her mask had even fooled him. She was more vulnerable on the inside than even he realized. He knew she felt it was a bad thing but he knew it wasn't. She had to maintain a certain level of detachment given her career but she couldn't bottle everything up forever. She had to let it out sometime.

As he thought about this she took his silence the wrong way. "I wasn't asking. You. For anything, " she said quickly, her words rushing out with embarrassment. "I was just saying. Believe me... I'll survive."

"Can I help?"

"Maybe?" she said self-consciously.

"How?"

"I'm not sure."

"Do you want me to try?"

"Sure."

Henry thought for a moment before awkwardly scooting closer to her, until his body was touching hers. He slowly reached an arm around her shoulder. He placed his hand on her shoulder, moved it down to her arm, before moving and deciding to rest it on her shoulder again. He half expected her to smack him for his efforts before he reminded himself that this was _her _idea. They had never been physically affectionate in any way before and, while he was not opposed to it, it still felt strange.

"Is this...helping?" he asked, unsure.

"This is awkward," she admitted. Her body was ridge and unmoving next to his.

"You're the one who brought it up; I'm just trying to help," he said, suddenly feeling defensive. He was surprised by this. Why should he be defensive? It wasn't as if he were insecure. He had just been feeling that this felt weird so it shouldn't upset him that she did too.

"I know, I'm sorry. But this isn't it," she said.

"Well, you're going to have to help me out here. This is not my area of expertise," he said, admitting his defeat.

She let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright, fine." She slowly relaxed her body, leaning into him. She sat like that for a moment, both of them just sitting there in silence. Then she wrapped her arms around him. She titled her head and he looked down at her and suddenly her face was so close to his. He was about to pull away she was so close, too close, he had thought. But it didn't feel wrong. It felt like her arms had always belonged around him and it was starting to feel like she needed to be this close so he wrapped his arms around her. Maybe, even he needed her this close.

Her face was so close now and he knew what her intention was by what he saw in her eyes. They glanced down and then back up to his own. He knew enough about body language to know exactly what that meant. He wouldn't object if that's what she wanted but her head wasn't entirely clear at the moment. He wanted to make sure this was her idea and not the alcohol's.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked after they had sat staring at each other for a while. His voice was serious and there was a tint of nervousness he hadn't expected to be there as well.

"Yeah, I think so," she said seriously with a slight nod.

"Alright then," he said trying to sound more carefree, and failing miserably.

"Would _you_ be alright with that?" she asked noticing his nervousness.

He didn't think he was nervous but by his words it was obvious he was. "Sure," he said lightly. "It's not like it means anything," he said and inwardly groaned, knowing immediately that he was overcompensating for his nervousness.

She rolled her eyes and gave him _that _look, the one she only gave him when she was annoyed with him. "Really, Henry? Was that necessary?"

"Sorry" he apologized sheepishly.

"You know what, just forget I said anything," she said, making a move to leave. In his attempt to deal with his own apprehension he had embarrassed her.

He gently pulled her back to him. "Wait. I'm sorry. I'm not good at this. Do you want me to keep saying it?"

"Maybe," she said and then she smiled. "I don't get to hear it that often. You know, you admitting you're not the best at something."

"Very funny," he said but he smiled, relieved he hadn't scared her off completely.

"Look, I get it alright? Not romantic. Point received. You don't need to say it; I get it. But you know you could try and act like it doesn't means absolutely nothing to you. "

"It doesn't mean nothing to me. I didn't mean that. I just wanted to make sure we were both clear about this. I don't want to confuse things between us."

"Alright. I'm clear," she said confidently.

"Good. Me too," he said, feigning confidence.

Ok, maybe he _was_ a little nervous. He wasn't sure why he should be because it felt like this was something he wanted. Maybe that was the very reason he was nervous. But he couldn't go back now; he had agreed and he was a man of his word. So he waited, patiently, for her to kiss him. She leaned in slowly, slightly nervously herself, pausing for a moment before she pressed her lips so gently against his.

Henry had never thought about kissing Jo before. If he had thought about it he would have assumed that it would have been awkward. He didn't have romantic feelings for her and he knew with absolute certainty that she did not have such feelings for him. But despite the absence of such feelings on both parts he found that this wasn't awkward. Her lips were soft and tentative as they brushed against his. But soon she pressed them a little harder and he felt as she scooted her body in closer against him. Without even thinking his arms drew in close around her, holding her tight against him. She had been the one to start this but he soon found that he was the one leading the kiss a little farther. She didn't protest when he did.

It had been so long since Henry had kissed anyone. It was an aspect of his life that had been absent for so long that he couldn't even remember what it was to have had it. Now that he was being reminded of it he found that he ached for it. He thought he was fine without it; he could survive without that in his life. He wasn't alright. It did not take him long to realize this. All it took was realizing how good it felt to have Jo's warmth against him, to have her face tucked in close against his. This close to her, he could smell all the distinct little things that made her up, vanilla soap and fabric softener, shampoo and all the whiskey she had just drank and it only added to the comfort of having her near.

He had longed for this. It wasn't romantic affection that he longed for only. No, it was more than that. It was much more tragic than that. He longed for physical affection. Aside from what little he received from Abe, he received none. Days could go by where he wouldn't be touched at all. He knew it was his own fault; he kept people at a distance. He had to. He never allowed himself to become close enough to anyone that physical affection would be something normal to be shared. And he thought he was managing alright with that. But he wasn't and he realized that now with startling clarity. He was desperate to be close to another person, just to be held, and he hadn't even known it. He'd buried it so far down that it was a surprise even to him. This was quite an inconvenient time to be coming to such self revelation.

He tried to focus on her; this was supposed to be about her and what she needed. He was not supposed to be the one becoming upset by this experience. She was the one who was lonely, who needed comforting. But he needed it too. In helping her, he was realizing that he was starving inside, that he wasn't surviving at all without companionship. He knew she felt it too. He felt her softening and falling apart at his touch and his arms moved in to catch her and sought to hold her together. He had never realized that they needed the same kind of comfort. She kept people at a distance too, for different reasons, of course, but it took it's toll on her. They had a lot more in common than he realized and he took a great amount of contentment in that.

Ever since he had met Jo, she had been chipping away the wall he'd so carefully constructed around his life. He was pretty sure she didn't know she was doing it; he hadn't even known she'd been doing it. From the very start she had managed to get in where so many had failed. And he'd decided to let her in, he allowed her to get close to him. Somewhere along the line he realized he wanted to be close to her. Maybe it was because he'd known how lonely he really was, deep down. Maybe it had been Abe's words of warning, that he hadn't been alive in a very long time, that had just so happened to come at the time when he'd started to know her. He had wanted that despite the fact that he had tried so hard to run from it.

Because most of all he had been longing for the thing he felt under her movements. She loved him. It wasn't romantic affection she felt for him; he knew what that felt like and this wasn't that. But love was there, certain and undeniable and just for him. He could feel that she loved him, that she cared about and liked him. He had kept everyone at a distance for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to feel it, for the very first time from someone. Nothing could compare to the first awareness, the absolute knowledge that someone cared about you, that you were not all alone in this world. This was that feeling of life that he had been missing out on for so long.

There was nothing lustful or carnal about the way she kissed him. He felt someone who was lonely, maybe just as lonely as he was. He felt someone who was looking and longing for companionship, just as much as he now realized he did. They shared this quality. But there was something else he felt in her that he knew she would not find in him. There was trust. Right now she was lonely, terribly so and she had allowed herself to be more vulnerable than she had in a long time. And she had chosen him to be the one she turned to. She was coming undone and she was allowing him to feel that. They were friends and she trusted him with so much already so this came as no exception. He felt as her hand reached up to the back of his neck and started to gently brush the hair at the base of his neck. It was a sweet gesture. It was a caring gesture. It was what finally sent him over the edge. She was lonely and right now she was looking to him, trusting him to chase it away for her. More than anything else he wanted to do the same.

He was _so _lonely. He didn't think about his own loneliness that often. He liked to think he wasn't afflicted by it. After all, what good did it do to indulge it? Even if he gave in to it, he would still be the one who would have to pull his own pieces together again. So, he didn't give into it. But at times like this, when he did face it, it hit him like a wall, hard and painful and stopping him in dead in his tracks. He longed to have something completely true and genuine with another person. He didn't want to keep people at a distance, to always be on the run or lie to them. He wanted to be truly honest with someone. He wanted to be completely honest with _her_. He wanted so desperately for her to know who he truly was and to see if she would accept him just as he was.

But he knew he couldn't have that and that's what hurt the most. He was tired to of being separate from everyone all of the time. He was tired of being lonely of having to bear everything all on his own. For weeks now, Jo had been dropping hints, trying to let him know that she wanted more. He knew she wanted him to talk to her more. He knew that she knew he was keeping things from her. She was doing everything she could to let him know that she wanted to be there for him. And he wanted to tell her so much. They wanted to same thing. But he had done this before and he knew it wouldn't end well. He would lose her if she really knew who he was.

He wished he could have stopped it but it came on so suddenly that it was beyond the point of no return by the time he realized what was happening. A sound, that sounded not enough like a gasp and too much like a sob rose out of his mouth and broke their lips apart. Maybe, he thought, he did not have quite as good a handle on alcohol that he thought he did. He was reacting more emotionally than he usually did. He thought he wasn't drunk but maybe he was. He never thought he would have been so affected by her kiss, that he would become so undone so suddenly. But he knew it wasn't really the alcohol. It was coming out of him fast after being pushed down and repressed for so long.

She pulled away a little and looked back at him in surprise and confusion. He covered his mouth and turned away slightly, not looking at her. He was embarrassed. This was why he didn't get drunk. It affected your emotions, it messed with your head. But was it that it made him feel differently than he actually felt or that it just made him face the things he really felt but was too afraid to face? He knew it was the latter.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning back to face Jo, quickly working to pull himself together and to appear calm. He needed to get himself together or he would have to explain to her what was going on and he wasn't sure he could do that. It was obvious by the look on her face though that she knew what was happening. He felt tears pulling at his eyes but these he would not give into. He felt them coming on but he would not let them escape as the sob had. Of course, the damage was already done.

"Henry, I'm sorry," Jo said. She looked terrible and he hated that she was apologizing. She hadn't done anything wrong. She'd done everything right and it was his fault that he'd gone for so long without genuine affection that now, when he felt some, he didn't know how to accept it.

"Look," she said continuing on. "I told you; I don't expect anything out of this."

"I know."

She looked confused now. He knew she must have assumed that he was upset because he had thought she wanted this to go somewhere he didn't want it to go. "Well...I'm sorry, anyway," she again. "This was my fault. I know how I get when I've had too much to drink and I should have stopped a long time ago."

"No," he said adamantly. He took her hand and looked at her. "Any time you need me, I'm here," he assured her. "I'm the one who needs to be sorry," he said again, hanging his head.

"For what?"

"I said I was ready for this but I'm not."

Jo sat silent thinking for a moment. Something occurred to her and a look of understanding crossed her face. "There hasn't been anyone since her, has there? Since, Abigail?"

"No," he admitted even though that wasn't the issue he was battling at the moment.

"Henry, I'm sorry. If I'd known I wouldn't-"

"No," he said shaking his head and looking at her. "Don't be sorry. I wanted to do it. I'm not upset because it hurt."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm not. It felt...good," he shyly admitted.

"And that's a bad thing?" she asked with a small smile but clearly confused now.

He knew he wasn't making any sense without being able to tell her the whole truth, and not being able to tell her the whole truth was the problem. He stared down. "Yes," he said and he was dismayed that the tears he hadn't allowed to leave his eyes had found a way to escape through his throat.

"Why is that a bad thing?" she said wrapping an arm around his shoulder and giving his shoulder a squeeze with her hand. The gesture felt normal now and no longer awkward or out of place. It felt incredibly good but it wasn't helping him overcome his battle with his emotions.

"I don't normally let people get this close. It's been a while since..." he said his voice trailing off. He cleared his throat before he continued. "I apologize that I didn't understand how I was going to react. This was a mistake."

"I don't think so," she said.

Hearing the confidence in her voice he turned to look at her again. "Why do you always push everyone away?" she asked.

He hesitated to answer the question. He could see that she understood what his problem was now and his embarrassment grew. He knew it shouldn't. She had said she was lonely and it shouldn't embarrass him that she knew he was too. "You act like you don't need anyone but that's not the case. Why push them away then?" she asked.

After a moment he spoke but he didn't yet answer the question. "I don't want to you lose you Jo," he said honestly as he smiled at her fondly. "It's been such a long time since I've had a good friend like you, and I don't want to lose that."

It took her a moment to speak, clearly overcome by his rare words of affection. "Henry, you're not going to lose me."

"Maybe not," he said, clearly unconvinced.

"Henry, why would think you're going to lose me?" she said, clearly upset by the accusation.

"The more people learn about me the less they tend to like me."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's the truth."

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but that isn't the case with me."

"You say that, now. But you don't know how you'll feel in the future."

There was a sympathetic look on her face when she spoke again. "She left you, didn't she?" she asked quietly.

Jo was so smart. He knew exactly what she was talking about without her even saying more. It was difficult to speak. "Yes. She did."

"Henry...I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly.

He wanted so much for her words to be true but he knew better than anyone that those feelings could change. They always said that he could tell them anything. They always said they would stay forever. But after one wife doubted his sanity and another abandoned him, he knew better. "You don't know that. You say that but you just don't know."

"But-"

"She said she wouldn't," Henry said looking at Jo. "And at first, she stayed. But eventually, knowing me became too much for her. You don't know that one day it won't become too much for you as well." He knew he needed to stop himself. He was getting carried away and pretty soon he was going to say something he shouldn't. But he just wanted her to know, wanted her to understand, that there was reason he held himself back and it wasn't because he wanted to.

Jo's eyes filled at the sight of Henry's sad face. "Henry...listen. I can't, argue with you, I guess, if I don't know the whole story," she said because she could see that right now he wouldn't accept her firm stance that things would_ not_ change. "But I can tell you what I _do_ know: You're my partner. I trust you. And I'll wait until you trust me too."

"Why would you do that?" he asked, disbelief heavy in his heart.

"Seriously?"

"Yes," he said honestly. "I need to know. It's not fair to you. I don't know why you would put up with me."

Jo made a face like she couldn't believe what Henry was saying, that it wasn't obvious to him. "You're my friend. My...best friend. I..."

"What?" he asked curiously.

"I need you."

He reached up and touched her hand that rested on his shoulder. "I need you too," he admitted heavily. He did need her and it scared him. He let her in a little bit and it showed him just how much he needed her. If he needed her he would continue to let her get closer, maybe even so close that he would tell her the truth. And that terrified him.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said again. "I hope that someday you'll trust me enough to let me in. Let me prove it."

He looked down, struggling for a minute, before looking up at her again. "I'm sure I will," he said, and though his voice was sad he smiled.

"Besides," she said giving him a squeeze, "the more I learn about you, the more I like you."

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah. When I first met you I thought you were a murderous sociopath. It's all uphill from there," she said with a smile.

He laughed slightly and she joined in. Both thought it felt incredibly good after all they'd been through today.

"Look, it's getting late-" she started to say.

"Oh, yes, of course. You must want to get going. I will catch you a cab, "he offered politely but reluctantly. He wasn't ready for her to leave just yet.

"Actually, I was going to say that I know it's getting late but...can I stay for a while longer?"

He smiled at her. "I wish you would."

He reached out an arm and without any more words between them she scooted close. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her pulling her in close to his side. This no longer felt weird or awkward but exactly right. It scared him to want it but he decided he would allow himself.

"Feeling lonely anymore?" he asked quietly.

"No. At the moment I'm not. You?"

"Not so much."

Henry liked to think he was a singular entity. There were so many things about him that set him apart from everyone else. So many secrets that he had allowed to isolate him. His immortality and the problems and benefits it brought along with it were anything but normal. But right now, as he held Jo he realized that he wasn't all that different from others as he thought. He may be immortal but he was still human. The desires and struggles he had were not all that different from those around him. Everyone, mortals and immortals alike, felt pain. Both wanted affection. He still felt loneliness and he still needed companionship. It had hurt to find this out and to let Jo in a little more but he was really glad he had. And he thought, one day, he might just let her in all the way.


End file.
